Sunday, December 17, 2006

Justin Timberlake: Comedian

I have decided that I am, without any guilt, a Justin Timberlake fan.

Not only was Saturday's SNL one of the funniest entire episodes in recent memory, Timberlake is a borderline comedic genius. The one weak skit, the Target bitch (played by Kristen Wiig, who, in my opinion, is so one-dimensional, especially when compared to Maya Rudolph and the increasingly-amazing Amy Poehler), was made memorable just because of Timberlake's bizarro stock boy who had lip issues.

The episode also brought back a variation on the classic, "Bring it on down to Omeletteville". In this version, Timberlake, dressed as a cup of soup, went head-to-head with Will Forte's Salvation Army Santa in promoting Homelessville, where the homeless are given free soup and coats.

I was hoping for a "Barry Gibb Talk Show", figuring Jimmy Fallon would be available to make a cameo. What ensued was the funniest of the three "Barry Gibb Talk Show" sketches, with Fallon yelling "I'm Barry eff-ing Gibb!" and kicking at Wiig's Sandra Day O'Connor.

You really just have to see it.

I've always been a regular viewer of SNL, even when it sucks. At age 6, I decided Father Guido Sarduci was brilliant and watched ever since (strange, right?). I've read books about the show. I own the Trivial Pursuit edition. And yes, I even did buy new glasses once I discovered Tina Fey.

Even if you're not an SNL fan, I dare you not to nearly pee yourself during this episode's SNL Digital Short (certain to become a web favorite). Evoking the days of early-90s, white-boy R&B (er, Color Me Badd), Timberlake and Andy Samberg sing about a special holiday gift for that lovely lady. You just have to go to the site and check it out. Priceless.

The episode was so good, I'll forgive the act of having Cameron Diaz introduce Timberlake's first musical number.

Another choice line from the episode:

"That's a stalagtite, Jo-Jessica, yo. You need to learn the difference between your sedimentary rock formations."

Exactly. Where the hell does that come from? Who knows, but it was some great comedy.

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Check out this snazzy article

I've done others for the JSONS site, but I figured I should share at least one. As well as my deft writing style, you can also check out my fine amateur photography in this lovely article I wrote on Friday.

Saturday, December 09, 2006

She Should Have Changed The Channel

Random self-confession. Sometimes, perhaps once every 6 months, I decide lay on my couch for a maximum of 4 hours and check out what sort of Moment of Truth I can have while watching the Lifetime Movie Network.

Usually this happens when I'm scanning through the Tivo guide while procrastinating doing anything of real substance and because I didn't get enough sleep the night before. I usually end up stopping because one of the terrible titles intrigues me (The hands-down winner for best Lifetime-aired film is always going to be Mother, May I Sleep With Danger). Many times, I'll just scan through the upcoming programs on LMN because I enjoy reading these ridiculous titles, some of which can be interchanged with adult films. Most times I stop because the cast synopsis is just too terrible not to at least check out what's going on in the films. Sometimes, you'll find credible actors before they had credible careers, for instance, you can see Christopher Meloni with HAIR in some film with Connie Selleca and Gregory Harrison as her stalker. (FYI, its always a Lifetime movie when you have Selleca and Harrison.)

One of my favorite loathesome actors is Jack Wagner. Jack Wagner is simply terrible, with a smarmy look that makes my skin crawl. In 1997, I met Mr. Wagner at the Deja Vu nightclub in Columbia, MO. Wagner is from Missouri and hosts an annual celebrity golf tournament in nearby Boonville (Home to the "wineries" we would frequent on Friday afternoons once the weather would warm up).

Because its Columbia, MO, Wagner thinks he can show up with an actual entourage and throw out $100 bill for drinks, maybe scoring some coed tail or something. The bar was packed that Thursday night and I kept hearing how "Jack Wagner's here." This was incredibly amusing for the group of friends I was with. At one point, I ended up actually bumping into his P-list smarminess and he turned around, giving me some sort of grin that said, "You want to talk to me because I'm famous." I wanted to laugh in his face, but I didn't want to be rude, so all that came out was "You're Jack Wagner."

He replied, "Why, yes. I am." (Repeat smarmy grin chock full of self-satisfaction.)

I walked away laughing because it was just too funny. That ridiculous answer. Just too damn funny.

Eventually, I saw a ridiculous Wagner movie on Lifetime called Frequent Flier. Good ol' Jack is a commercial pilot juggling wives in both Dallas and Chicago (major hubs, obviously). This movie is absolutely horrible, yet hilariously so. It's up there with Mother, May I Sleep With Danger and the Ricki Lake masterpiece, Babycakes (All you really need to know is that she seduces a ice skating-subway driver played by Craig Scheffer and then he has to choose between his skinny & wealthy — and MEAN — girlfriend).

This afternoon, I stumble upon 1995's Lady Killer about 15 minutes after the start. I encounter Judith Light (Angela Bower! Angela Bower!) getting into a bathtub with Jack Wagner. And Wagner is beyond smarmy, sporting that chin-length hair and sideburns only considered desirable between 1994-early 1996.

This is disgusting. I really could have gotten through life without having a mental picture of Judith Light and Jack Wagner doing it. (And no offense to Judith Light. She's done Broadway and some credible work, so I won't really bash her, however, I don't want to see her in a bubble bath with Jack Wagner.)

She ends their affair but he's an obsessed psycho (Duh! This is a LIFETIME MOVIE!), so he ends up getting involved with her daughter. The daughter is played by the one-tiny-step-above-Kellie-effing-Martin Tracey Gold. Anyway, the whole family is at some cabin and Wagner does it with Gold so Light can hear them.

The whole experience was painful and made me feel dirty, although the requisite psycho-falling-off-high-place death scene was good (However, the gold standard for this sort of scene will always remain 1996's Fear, when Mark Wahlberg bites it on a bunch of rocks in the end.)

I know people need work but, even in 1995, there is absolutely no reason for anyone casting ANYTHING to think the general public needed to visualize the coital goings-on of those three individuals.

Must. Go. Bathe. And not watch any television for at least 12–24 hours. There are reasons such crimes are only committed every six months.

Thursday, November 30, 2006

Don't lie...

Thanks, Marybird, for giving me such an interesting and productive way to spend about 7 minutes. I didn't lie, but there were definitely some questions I could have gone both ways on.

Try it for yourself. I had to follow my dignosis by reading the Sinner Guide.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

You're not making me feel fresh

A couple of weeks ago, I had a rental car and decided to venture to the Natick Mall. I like the Natick Mall. They're getting a Nordstrom and Neiman's, but right now, I'm just happy they have a Delia's. I don't care if I'm almost 30. They have some neat 'n' cheap stuff, particularly these tanks and ribbed tops that fit unbelievably well. Granted, I'm not going to buy a little baby tee that proclaims "I got the hook-up", but whatever. Delia's is cool.

As I'm casing the Natick Mall, I see some new store called
Aerie. Because it's directly next to an American Eagle, I quickly figured out its obviously part of their gimmick. One of my oldest friends works for American Eagle and occasionally, I will buy the random garment (Like this killer navy sundress I wear whenever I want to poorly execute the bad girl persona and follow it with vapid pouting and/or sobbing into a flask, a la Marissa Cooper) from this chop shop they call a retail chain. I've never gotten into AE, mainly because it feels like they're still ripping off the whole Abercrombie thing from the mid-90s. They're still doing Dawson's Creek in a Degrassi: The Next Generation world.

I guess AE wants to get in on some of the
Victoria's Secret Pink or Gap Body action. I didn't go into the store, but it definitely was Pink for The-N set. Personally, I think its a bit late to cash in on the too-cute-in-cotton loungewear trend, but honestly, I never thought American Eagle would still be in every shopping mall across the country after 2000.

I don't find Aerie annoying because its part of American Eagle. I find it annoying because their in-house ad department should really re-think the branding. It's not so much Aerie is a bad name — it does incorporate the parent brand, but it's not very good when you see the entire logo.

Look at it. You know what I'm thinking, right? It's a feminine hygeine product. When I first saw the storefront, I even got that quasi-uncomfortable feeling previously triggered only by douche commercials featuring fresh 'n' clean women swathed in white linen skipping stones along the shore (Just FEEL the depth of this metaphor!). Aerie suggests being free and clean and air-dried. There's the little birdie, all liberated and happy, flying wherever she may without having to worry about not feeling fresh.

I don't want to buy loungewear or lingerie from a store mirroring the brand identity of
Always and Playtex. In fact, if I'm trying for the whole "playful & cute" seduction vibe, the last thing I want to think of is butterflies, beaches, and Judy Blume.

(Judy Blume had to have been on
Stayfree's payroll because she built her entire career on writing about teenage girls anxiously awaiting the arrival of their first period. A first period became the literal climax / turning point of her novels. The woman turned menstration into plot structure!)

Ok, Aerie. I know you really don't care if I won't shop your store. And even if you didn't use that sanitary napkin font, I probaby still wouldn't shop there. Even if panties and tampons are all "intimates" in some capacity, I just don't want to associate my boyshorts with douche everytime I need to run into a mall.

Monday, November 20, 2006

Kill the cheerleader. And McDreamy. And McSteamy.

I would typically tell anyone, when voicing such an opinion, not to watch it or not to pay attention. And I, myself, have tried to do this, yet there seems to be no escaping it.

I have a lot of distrust for things that a ridiculous amount of people seem to agree upon. I thought Meet The Parents sucked. I won't see Braveheart or My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I have never, nor will I ever read The Da Vinci Code. I will not play Sudoku.

Nothing, however, seems to annoy me as much as this phenomenon does in regards to network television. I don't know anyone who watches Survivor, or, for that matter, many people who any watch shows on CBS (I think the last time I watched something on CBS was the mid-80s when Kate & Allie was on). Wait. I did try CSI a few times, but could never get into it — mainly because when I'm watching television, I don't want the reason for some horrific accident to be bad brakes. No. You watch fictional television to see horrific crimes and motives.

However, the popularity of CSI has never irked me as much as the new breed of nicknames or catchphrases that seem to be everywhere I turn.

Let's start with Heroes. Of all the networks, I probably Tivo NBC shows more than any other because I love my Law & Order(s) and enjoy The Office, Studio 60, and My Name is Earl. I never want to see another commercial for this show. NBC also owns the Sci-Fi channel, of which I religiously watch Battlestar Galactica and some other random programs when the time is right (but never Stargate). Sci-Fi reairs Heroes throughout the week, so they also feature several ads for the show.

I don't even watch much television, yet, there are just some things one cannot escape.

I swear that I cannot avoid these ads, even with the Tivo. This stupid catchphrase they've come up with — Save the cheerleader. Save the world. Seriously. I cannot take it anymore. I was in high school once and cheerleaders only wore their uniforms on game days. I get that they're trying for the whole pesudo-superhero vibe and all, but girlfriend is not wearing the skirt and spankies 7 days a week. Every time I have seen an ad for this show, she's wearing the damned uniform. To my knowledge, she doesn't even throw on an (equally annoying) Juicy Couture sweat ensemble when she gets home.

Would somebody PLEASE kill the cheerleader? Really. At this point, I don't even care if the world is completely screwed because I'll never have to hear that inane voice whispering this inane catchphrase ever again. I like a lot of sci-fi shows. I like twists and turns and all that good stuff, but come on! Save the cheerleader, save the world? It's apparent you tried too hard for the "quirky catchphrase". And you've killed it. It's gone beyond Is that your final answer territory.

Although I have several friends who tell me I would enjoy Grey's Anatomy, I won't do that, either. As much of a huge fan I am of Sandra Oh, I still won't do Grey's Anatomy. I've been told I would really like the character of Grey, that I would even identify with her. Perhaps I would, but I'm not going to now because I'm so eff-ing sick of hearing about this "McDreamy" and this "McSteamy".

Sure, women come up with nicknames for those whom they get involved with. I have several. Perhaps I am biased, but they are much more clever than "McDreamy". Hey, I've never had anything against Patrick Demsey and I'm happy his career has been revitalized and he's gained sex symbol status. He seems like a nice guy. But I'm not ever going to refer to him as "McDreamy".

This would be easier to avoid than Heroes, considering I do not watch much on ABC. I don't even know if they reference these names in the ads. All I know is that I can't buy a soda or pack of cigarettes without "McSteamy" or "McDreamy" staring at me from near the register. I hop on a various webpages and there seems to always be something about these "McSteamy" and "McDreamy" people. Enough already. Between terms like McMansions and McChow, don't we have enough Mc-euphanisms in popular culture?

Are "McDreamy" and "McSteamy" the fast-food equivilent of hot men? Is that what you're trying to tell me? I just don't know and I really don't care.

Hmmm. I've just come up with a moral dillema: Would I save the cheerleader if she took out McSteamy and McDreamy? Or just stopped the use of their ridiculous nicknames?

I'm going to have to think about this one for awhile.

Sunday, November 19, 2006

The Weekend of Little People

Okay. I didn't really suggest this little excursion to New Haven, CT. I just showed the picture I found in some free magazine absconded from the store of ill repute near my apartment to a friend and he took it from there.

Meet the "Little Sisters", two little person strippers named, respectively, Little Lacey and Little Pixie. The Little Sisters were headlining some random club called "The Catwalk Cabaret" in the bowels of New Haven this past weekend.

Anyway, around 10pm on Saturday night, I found myself in the back of a Volvo and travelling to see this tiny duo on stage. I was curious as to see what sort of pole work they might do, or if they really built their act on being "midgets".

It's a good thing we didn't arrive at the Cabaret until 1am, because this appeared to be the first time the Little Sisters took the stage (I was told they would be performing shows from 11pm until 5am). This was one of those BYOB places and we had no alcohol. I had consumed some red wine before I left my apartment, followed by a decent White Russian at this diner/gourmet truck stop somewhere along the way.

The crowd at the Cabaret was bored and unenthusiastic, sans for one middle-aged man who was most likely a regular. The stage was not impressive, with one pole in the middle. The dancers seemed to spend their time in the back, sometimes just leaning over the rail of what may have been the "VIP" section (it was reminiscent of a backyard deck).

Judging from their press pack, my group expected that Pixie, the blonde was going to be more the dishy attraction. Not so. Perhaps it was like that when they first started their act, but it was apparent Lacey was now the star performer. Maybe it was because Pixie was broken.

When they both got on state, Lacey went front and center to the pole and began dancing in some two-piece ensemble (none of the gals at this place wore those obnoxious polyester gowns). Little Pixie went straight to the back. She seemed to have put on weight since those pictures were taken, or perhaps her stomach was distended because she was incredibly inebriated. She was also wearing white, K-Swiss-like sneakers.

Lacey did her thing. She was entertaining, especially when compared to the club's regular line-up. I didn't know what they were doing most of the time. I guess you really don't have to do any sort of dancing in these places anymore. All you have to do is show certain things to your audience. And that's about it. Not even much mixing up, or flipping sides. Nope. None of that.

Meanwhile, I wasn't quite sure what Pixie was doing near the VIP area, but the large bouncer ended up walking her off the stage. At first I thought she was upset. Perhaps those "VIPs" made fun of her. However, I soon realized that Pixie was broken. Little Sis was wasted beyond belief.

Lacey remained on stage. She never went nude, but she finished her act wearing a g-string which housed a Solo cup in the crotch area. You could win a free picture if you successfully landed a dollar bill in the cup. After launching about 20 ones, Middle-Aged-Regular-Man finally figured out the best way to achieve the feat would be to ball up the bill and then toss.

She didn't even appear next to her sister for the photo opportunities. That's right, folks, for $20, you can have your own Polaroid. I went over there when the DJ said it was the "last chance". There was no line, only Lacey hanging out with a club employee wielding a Polaroid camera. I had already wasted $20 to get in this place, but I felt bad there was no line so I ponied up another $20 to get my picture taken with Lacey.

I wanted to ask about Pixie. But I didn't. It just didn't seem right.

My two friends then got their picture with Lacey. As photographers, they obviously have higher standards then most people, but anyone would have been disappointed when finding, as the Polaroid developed, that Lacey's eyes were closed. They asked if they could have another and she obliged. She even let them keep both and did not charge extra.

(In case you were wondering, she signed the pics, too. I will be scanning and posting mine on this blog soon.)

When we were finished, Middle-Aged-Regular-Man had come over, his hands trembling as he held the prized picture of the "Little Sisters" in his hand. He ponied up another twenty for something more personal.

We tried watching a few more of the dancers, but it was obviously getting late. It's not so much that I enjoy these types of places. I think I enjoy them less since taking up pole dancing since it always disappoints me that these women don't ever actually dance. The crowd wasn't even fun to watch. You would think two little strippers would have commanded a big, boisterous group. Not so. When the DJ named the winner of a raffle for a free private dance with one of the dancers, he called about 30 numbers in rapid succession before someone finally got up.

We left and drove back to Boston, stopping only at a TA truck stop off Ruby Road. The same TA where I was imprisoned for an hour 2 years ago when the driver of the charter bus I was on accidently hit a car and tried to outrun the cops to no avail. For some reason, I love truck stops. I love looking at all the random items available for sale, whether Vanillaromas or die-cast big rigs. The music and DVD selections are always a pleasure to look through, too. As a thank you for driving, I bought my friend a tape of trucker stand-up poetry done by some guy named "Thunder Britches" (she only has a tape deck). This kept the 3 of us awake for most of the way home. We also learned what "crackerheads" (still not sure about this one, but I think its just a word for a jackass trucker) and "lot lizards" (they're hookers that wait in the truck stops for drivers to pull up for the night) were, and that cops and dispatchers are not well liked in the trucker community.

I'm trying not to dwell on the money I spent, perhaps $60 after food and beverage, because I could think of much better ways to spend $60. I thought about calling the Catwalk and demanding half my entry fee back since we really only got one Little Sister for the price of two.

Although I'll always remember the experience, I was thankful to crawl into my bed.

Friday, November 03, 2006

Just random

I don't feel like outfitting my MySpace page with all of this crap, so...I thought, why not put it on here? I've been lackadaisical in my postings for some time now. Don't know about the accuracy of these things, but I was bored...

You Are 76% Democrat

You have a good deal of donkey running through your blood, and you're proud to be liberal.
You don't fit every Democrat stereotype, but you definitely belong in the Democrat party.

You Are 12% Republican

If you have anything in common with the Republican party, it's by sheer chance.
You're a staunch liberal, and nothing is going to change that!

Your Stripper Song Is

Master and Servant by depose Mode

"There's a new game
We like to play you see
A game with added reality
You treat me like a dog
Get me down on my knees"

Yawn, dancing is so boring without a little spice.

Your English Skills:

Grammar: 100%
Punctuation: 80%
Spelling: 80%
Vocabulary: 80%

Your Inner European is Russian!

Mysterious and exotic.
You've got a great balance of danger and allure.
Who's Your Inner European?

Your Geek Profile:

Academic seeking: Highest
Movie Geekiness: Highest
Music Geekiness: Highest
Geekiness in Love: Moderate
General Geekiness: Moderate
Internet Geekiness: Moderate
SciFi Geekiness: Moderate
Fashion Geekiness: Low
Gamer Geekiness: Low

Monday, October 23, 2006

Things which perplex...

For the past week or so, I've been attempting to mentally compile a list of things that irritate me and / or I just don't understand. Here we go...

People who insist on pressing the elevator button after it already been pushed
While at work last week, I decided that this tiny act drives me nuts. Three people are waiting on the 1st floor to go up. A woman comes over and re-presses the already-lit up button. Seriously, woman, do you think it's going to come faster just because you pressed it?

Complete strangers who ask you for a cigarette
When I pull out a pack of gum in any public area, no one asks me for a piece. I figured out that this may not be socially acceptable. However, if you're smoking, and some yahoo wants a cigarette, they figure they can ask you. Maybe I should have more sympathy for other casual smokers (or smokers in general) but they should buy their own damn pack. I don't know them. It's not even as if we were technically breathing the same air in a bar, yet random people can come up to me and ask me for a cigarette? Yet, you can pull out a pack of gum and no one asks for a piece, even though chewing gum is much more socially acceptable than smoking. I don't get it.

The intense media fascination with Lindsay Lohan
Sure, Mean Girls was a good movie, but I don't see why every time this girl is photographed not properly holding her legs together while getting into the back of an Escalade should make the news. How does this affect my life except to point out the obvious fact that normal people are never hospitalized for exhaustion, nor can they call into work and cite "exhaustion" as the reason they won't be in.

Why the taxes & fees on an overseas flight nearly equal the ticket price
I'm sure I could look up the reasons why, but I'll do it later. Orbitz has no right to tell me a round-trip ticket from Boston to Heathrow is $228 in boldface when the taxes & fees total $225. The last time I flew, my Lancome Juicy Tube was confiscated. I don't even know if I can bring carry-on my iPod or even a book on this flight in January, but I can be charged $225 in fees.

Bachelorette Parties
Now the source of extra cash, I am gaining even more insight into these spectacles. I don't want to hear about how you're too good, or too embarrassed to dance on a pole, when you willingly attended the damn party. Especially when your breasts are clearly popping out of your bar clothes. My breasts are firmly held in place and I'm wearing less than you. So shove it. You know you're going to be all over the first loser who buys you a Coors Light. And don't start "whoo-hooing" because the Pussycat Dolls' Buttons is playing. (The Pussycat Dolls...The one musical act which makes the Black-Eyed Peas almost decent.)

Inanimate objects with MySpace profiles
Seriously, am I really going to want to add a Gilette razor or pink iPod Nano to my MySpace friends? I know this stupid site is an advertising & financial goldmine, but giving profiles to material and or personal goods? That's just a jackass move.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Quench my thirst!!

I can't believe I just saw these now! Thanks, Laura, for sending me these. (Courtesy of

Friday, September 29, 2006

Brief burst of negative thinking

Yeah. So I've been trying to think more positively these days. I think this partly-sunny disposition works for me. But obviously, I'm just not me unless I am bitching about something.

If you know me, you know I have those things I just can't stand. Things like:

  • Vegan/vegitarian food named after meat products (Dude. If you hate eating animals so much, then I don't want to see you cramming your face with veggie sausage or veggie chicken nuggets. Or at least make Morningstar Farms change the damn name.)
  • Scientologists
  • Evangelicals
  • Tom Cruise
  • Jennifer Love Hewitt
  • The vocal stylings of Anne Murray
  • Soundgarden (Black Hole Sun. Nuff said. One of the worst songs ever made.)
  • Manheim Steamroller Christmas music (Do they make other music besides Christmas music? I'm not sure, but that crap makes my ears bleed.)
  • Chick lit
  • Adding people you have never conversed with to your MySpace "friends"

I know there are more but the whole point of this exercise was to name what may be my newest pet peeve.

Dane Cook.

I do not understand why Dane Cook is so popular. It's like Ashton Kutcher doing stand-up in a lot of ways. And he's everywhere. He's hosting the season premiere of SNL this weekend (I won't even get into my thoughts on the direction SNL is taking. And I'm one of those who watches it even when it sucks). He hosted it last year. It blew (ok...I did sort of laugh at his monologue but the rest of the ep blew).

I guess Dane Cook has a zillion MySpace friends or something, too. And he was rumored to be doing Jessica Simpson. Maybe this how a person makes it nowadays. Not sure.

I just want someone to explain to me the appeal of Dane Cook. I will sit. I will listen. I will not interject. Just someone please tell me why Dane Cook is everywhere. Thanks.

And I guess to balance out my list of things I loathe, I'll include some random things I really like:
  • Slipping into just-out-of-the-dryer jeans
  • Battlestar Galactica (The new one. Duh.), Entourage, America's Next Top Model
  • Ice-T & Coco
  • Creed Barton
  • Anna Nicole Smith (Say what you want but that woman is a survivor who's done a whole lotta living)
  • Pole dancing
  • Water

Maybe I was stretching a bit, but I would like water even if it wasn't the essence of all earthly life.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Is it just me?

Is it just me, or is T.O. the male, professional athelete equivilant of Lindsay Lohan? I'm going to call in Terrell Lohans. It's just at thought. I don't think I'm that funny or anything, but those two are just in the news for temper tantrums and stuff way too much.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

Ordering another Ice-T & Coco

Yeah. I admit it. I just love them. I will continue posting pictures of them whenever I feel like it because I adore them. I don't care if these pictures are old. I just love me some Ice-T and CoCo.

I wonder what they wear when they're just sitting around the house watching SVU reruns. I've read Kimmora Lee Simmons has the largest private collection of Louis Vuitton. CoCo is bound to have the largest private collection of fishnet.

They are the new American dream. Ice-T is a former Army Ranger and revered "father of gangsta music" who then became a semi-respected actor. CoCo, aka Nicole Austin, was obviously a girl with a vision (and a plastic surgeon) who made it into Playboy and assorted swimsuit catalogs.

You know they have a sense of humor about themselves and I seriously find that beautiful. CoCo isn't trying to be something she's not and I don't see her trying to launch any lame ass fragrance on the market. And Ice-T is just Ice-T. He doesn't have to be anything he's not because he's Ice mutha-f**king T. (Yeah, and I'm a big L&O fan.)

An open letter to NASA

From the AP:
Astronaut Daniel Burbank, center, adjusts his launch and entry suit while sitting in the space shuttle Atlantis at the Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral, FL. Saturday, September 9, 2006.

You know those astronauts are thinking it would be a lot cooler trip if NASA would have just let
Lance Bass come along for the ride.

Yeah. Lance Bass, the gay kid from NSync. But before he was the "gay kid", he was the "boyband kid who wanted to go to space." Doesn't anyone remember that? I do. And in my mind, he will always be the kid that didn't get to go into space. I don't care if he likes men or women, or if he pitches or catches.
He's Lance Bass, the kid who was this close to living out his astronaut fantasy.

Let Lance Bass live out his dream.

Lance Bass:
On The Line, out of the closet and into space!

NASA, let's face it, you guys are screwed. The remaining space shuttles are dreadfully out-of-date (um, yeah, you lost two pretty much because of maintenance issues that weren't taken care of before liftoff). Launches haven't been a big national event in several decades. You're not getting the proper government funding because, well, there is that little war going on.

Russia lets millionaires take a celestial journey when they pony up around $20 million.
Richard Branson is promising space flights on his Virgin Galactic within the next five years at $100,000 a pop. Maybe NASA should do some of the same.

Frankly, NASA, the only really "positive" shout-out you've gotten since the Columbia tragedy was when Bush decided to talk about putting people on the moon again in last year's State of the Union address. You guys were that year's "let's end steroids in baseball" insert. You know what I'm talking about. You were just an attempt to distract the American public from what's dreadfully wrong with this country's policy.

NASA, not Social Security, should be privatized. You know how much funding NASA could get by letting millionaires -- who have nothing better to do than fly hot air balloons around the world -- travel to space for a few days? A lot.

Let Lance Bass live out
his dream. Please? The First Openly Gay American in Space has a nice ring to it, right? I think it does. Sure, the Christian Right may be super pissed, but their arguement is going to be hilarious. They'll say such things as "homosexuals have no place in the realm of great American heroes like John Glenn" and other such ridiculous nonsense. But yet, they will all be wearing t-shirts that say "If you can send a homo into space, why can't you send all of them?" Their arguement will be hilarious and full of gross contradictions, and even those against gay marriage would probably start to look at this whole "morality" arguement as complete bullshit. But above all, people would start caring and talking about NASA again. It would be a PR bonanza on every level.

Putting Lance Bass on the Discovery or Atlantis would be one small step for man and one giant leap for gay mankind. Yo, NASA. I got four words for you: Work it out, girlfriend!

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

EEEEEEK! (Second Coming of L. Ron / Freakboy's Little Sugarcube)

I am so ashamed to have two celebrity-related posts in a row, but this is just way too scary.

The first pictures of Suri Cruise have been released. There is just something slightly off about the child. I mean, it appears to be a normal healthy baby (I have never purported to be a medical expert), but if it truly is the spawn of Tom Cruise, something must be not right? (Not to mention how Scientologists feed babies with fruit juices. Yeah, um, what does that do to little baby gums?)

Some have described the child as looking like an Asian Elvis but I would rather liken it to a Bjork facsimile. Yet, Bjork is kind of cool so that would be insulting her. But it really does look like a miniature Bjork.

I just hope that Suri kid is somehow able to get some therapy when it grows up.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

Ice-T & Coco-licious!!!

YAY! I guess Ice-T & Coco attended the VMAs. AWESOME!! Because that means there were photos!

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

The Stranger in a strange hand

This curious news item appeared mid-August. Obviously, I have been living under a rock since I only found out about it the other night. Lina and I were sitting in her torn-apart living room (she's moving) and going through the latest issue of Vanity Fair.

She says, "Did you see something about Bush reading The Stranger in here?"

She tells me this because she knows The Stranger is my all-time favorite book. Ever since I was 17. It was assigned reading. I told my Honors English teacher I wanted to adapt it into a film. (I think at the time, I mean, it was 1995, I envisioned
Keanu Reeves as Mersault. Come on! I was only 17!)

Obvious, we were enjoying vodka-based beverages so we naturally got sidetracked and began looking up crap on YouTube. The next day, however, I Google-ed the information.

Sure enough, Lena was correct. It may not have appeared in that particular issue of Vanity Fair, but it certainly made the news earlier this month while Bush was on vacation at his Crawford ranch.

Of course such an event would make the news. Bush has said his favorite book is the Bible and his favorite "philosopher" was Jesus. And the only other book I know for certain he has read is The Pet Goat.

Why the hell would Bush be reading the most famous novel by the beloved French author
Albert Camus?

Media outlets like Slate begged for more information regarding the President's vacation read. On The Daily Show,Jon Stewart pointed out, for those who have never had the pleasure of reading The Stranger, "it's a book about a Westerner who kills an Arab and dies with no remorse. Why it would strike a nerve, I don't know."

White House Press Secretary Tony Snow said that the President found the book to be an "interesting read" and commented that they had a brief conversation on the origins of French existentialism.

This disbelief that Bush would read such a novel stems not only from the book's ironic subject matter, but because, well, the President reading any deep literature is just amusing in itself. When it became public knowledge that President Clinton (all hail) gifted Monica Lewinsky with Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, it didn't seem that odd. In spite of what many may (still) think of Clinton, and all of the coverage surrounding the Lewinsky scandal, the fact that Clinton presented his mistress with a beloved piece of American literature didn't seem completely bizarre. Clinton was a literate intellectual. But President Bush reading The Stranger while on vacation? Absolutely and completely bizarre (er...absurd).

Why the hell would Bush be interested in French extentialism? Granted, over a year ago, he quoted Camus while speaking in Brussels, but we all know he doesn't actually write those speeches. And his use of "freedom is a long-distance race" is quite ironic, mainly because Camus' idea of freedom was one which could only be achieved once society was freed from the restrictions of religious dogma.

Going back to Tony Snow's comment about he and the President's dicussion of "French Existentialism", it is important to note that most Camus historians believe Camus would have rejected his work being classified into the extentialist genre. Many would say that he subscribed to absurdist philosophies, but much of Camus' work questioned how absurdism played into our lives -- can life be meaningful while having no meaning? Subconsciously, could Bush be questioning his motives and the legacy of his politcal career?

During his time, Camus was well-known as a vocal political activist opposed to totalitarian movements. His extentialist contemporary, Sartre, was an ardent Marxist (this supposedly led to the end of their friendship, as Camus opposed totalitarian politics on each side of the spectrum). He was a member of the French resistence to the Nazi Occupation and spoke out against the Soviet Union throughout his life.

There is no doubt in my mind that Bush sees himself as the leader of anti-totalitarianism in today's world, a concept he so frequently contradicts in policy and subsequent action. However, it is obvious he fails to see any of this contradiction, even though the simple statement of being "either with us or against us" reeks of totalitarianism. His blind faith in Evangelical Christian "morality"? Also totalitarianism.

In 1957, in a speech commerating the 1956 Hungarian Revolution against the U.S.S.R., Camus made this statement:

But I am not one of those who think that there can be a compromise, even one made with resignation, even provisional, with a regime of terror which has as much right to call itself socialist as the executioners of the Inquisition had to call themselves Christians.

If he were alive today, don't you wonder what Camus would be saying now?

Maybe I should give credit to Bush for reading The Stranger, but I doubt it was done to broaden his horizons. I think he really just read the words, reading...but numb to what the words are acutally saying.

When Mersault killed the Arab, he may have not felt the "remorse" we are trained and conditioned to feel after doing something wrong. But Mersault was not completely immune to the affects of his actions.

Then I fired four more times at the motionless body where the bullets lodged without leaving a trace. And it was like knocking four quick times on the door of unhappiness.

Mr. President, are you knocking on that door of unhappiness?

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Screw You Jonathan Franzen

Ok. Jonathan Franzen recently published his memoirs. Fabulous.

I have read both The Twenty-Seventh City and The Corrections. The first of which is a fictional account of several families in St. Louis. In The Corrections, a mythical city of St. Jude (the Patron Saint of Lost Causes, as he points out upon first mention) stands in for St. Louis. Both books were engrossing yet mired in pompous dribble. As I finished both, I felt sort of dirty and empty, although I had devoured each novel in record time. It could be compared to eating a incredibly rich meal in an expensive restaurant with the most amazing ambiance, yet when you clean your plate, you realize that the food just wasn't that good.

Yo, Franzen. We get it. Your intellectual & pompous ass just has to prove it's better than where they grew up. You really should get some serious therapy and learn how to deal with the fact you were born and raised in St. Louis. You obviously can't get over geography and frankly, it is beyond annoying AND offensive.

I take offense because I was born and raised in St. Louis. Yes, I moved away. No, I do not plan on ever moving back. Am I ashamed of where I grew up? Hell no. Every time I get on the plane after visiting I still get a bit teary-eyed because it means I having to leave people I love. The majority of my family still lives there. Many of my closest friends have built lives and families there. Are they ignorant and blind to the world beyond Highways 40, 44 & 270? No. Most of them are not (Hey, we all know morons). And after living in Boston for over 6 years, I can attest that close-minded ignorance is epidemic of every region. It's just part of life. Stupid people exist everywhere.

The fact Franzen can't stop whining about his formative years is clear-cut evidence of his ignorant blindness to the world.

NY Times just reviewed Franzen's memoirs, The Discomfort Zone: A Personal History. For those of you unfamiliar with the St. Louis area, I feel the need to point out some things which would be lost upon the casual reader. The Times' book reviewer, Michiko Kakutani refers to "the town of Webster Groves" (which Franzen apparently describes as "in the middle of the country in the middle of the golden age of the American middle class". Yikes. A nice description in some sense, but stop trying to be the second coming of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Franzen).

Webster Groves is not a "town", per se. It is a suburb. St. Louis is structured differently from most municipalities. The City and County are separate, referred to as St. Louis City and St. Louis County. True "towns" do not exist for perhaps 50 miles outside (in most directions, and if you're from St. Louis, you think of this in terms of the highways). Webster Groves is also one of the older suburbs in the area, located in closer proximity to downtown than the other areas which have been so heavily populated with strip mall monstrosities (Hello? THE VALLEY? THE VALLEY?). It is an area of St. Louis county with older, charming houses and a lot of character (Shall I throw in something about it being now being a gilded suburb in the golden age of upper middle class?). There is a pleasant lack of aluminum siding and Poltergeist-ish subdivisions. The "downtown" area of Webster Groves remains a "downtown" area in which people could explore on foot, unlike the newer suburbs which have been overrun with chain restaurants.

(To Franzen's credit, on his website, he refers to Webster Groves as a suburb.)

Sure, St. Louis has its faults. But no place is perfect. There are places which make me cringe...and there are places which overwhelm me with their beauty. The Calvary Cemetary in South City has the most incredible masouleums (one of which was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright) and driving electric boats with my father in the lake at Forest Park remains my most treasured childhood memory.

So, Franzen. Shove it. You really should direct your gift with language into something more constructive than bitching about your childhood neighborhood. In your memoirs, you apparently own up to being a judgmental prick. Good. That's a start. It's okay to be a judgmental prick. Just stop whining about something you can't control. You were born and raised in St. Louis. Deal. Maybe you should get drinks with Brad Pitt. He's from SPRINGFIELD. Have you ever been to Springfield, Franzen? The birthplace of cashew chicken and numerous marry-me-on-reality-TV stars? The home to many a store selling W.W.J.D. merchandise? I doubt it. Jesus, Franzen, I bet you never even ventured into Bridgeton. But that Brad Pitt. I hear he still actually visits Springfield. I've never even heard about him publically saying an unkind thing about the Southwestern Missouri town (almost in Oklahoma!) he grew up in.

And he's doing quite well for himself, don't you think? He got over it. I got over it. Maybe you should get over it, too.

(Being from St. Louis, I believe this is where I have to throw in the obligatory "Go Cards".)

Monday, August 28, 2006

greenmelinda rides again

As promised, greenmelinda is now up and running. It's my portfolio site -- and still a major work in progress. (So don't hold that against me if you want to find me a job or something.)

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Tom Cruise Wants Yahoo! Cash

I was instructed to add this bit of "very true gossip" from an L.A. buddy on my blog...

(And since we all now how much I loathe those pesky scientologists and Tom Cruise, I felt obliged.)

Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes went to the Yahoo! offices in an attempt to drum up cash for his production company (if you've seen the news, Paramount dropped him this week). He went in to meet with executives with his very miserable-looking slave girl in tow.

(Obviously, it would be unrise to leave Slave Starlet at home, lest she run away with Suri, er...the "second-coming" of L. Ron.)

I guess he thinks Yahoo! will pony up some cash since they've had him do corporate events in the past. I don't understand why he doesn't just go to that big scientologist movie-making factory located somewhere in the desert.

Monday, August 21, 2006

Appalachia is HOT

A friend sent this to me. I really cannot think of the words that may best describe it.

Hot, hot, hot, perhaps?

Friday, July 28, 2006

The Passion of the Drunk

Awesome! Okay, I know I shouldn't laugh at anyone's misfortune of driving while intoxicated. But Mel Gibson? Mel Gibson?

Awesome! I've read he used to be a big drinker, but you know, he found Jesus and grew a religious beard and all that crap. And he would always say how he was so above needing a drink now and again, how its against his faith, yada yada yada (even though boozing is cool in Catholicism).

Ooops. Busted along the PCH for a DUI. I love it when smug, "pious" celebrities and / or public figures get busted for doing something they claim to be beyond or above at this point in their life. Sometimes, there is a little justice in this world!

I can't wait for Tom Cruise to be busted snorting Ritalin and going all gladiator on Lance Bass.

It's Not TV. It's HBO

Behold the power of HBO original programming. The Defamer and the L.A. Times picked up this story which may or may not confirm that negotiations are being made to make a feature-length film version of Aquaman.

Any fan of Entourage is familiar with the fictional, record-breaking, James Cameron-directed film starring the also-fictional Vincent Chase. Ironically, one of the agents named in the discussions is Ari Emanuel, the inspiration for Jeremy Piven's brilliant Ari Gold.

Would I go see Aquaman? Yes. If it starred Adrian Grenier. And it would be wise to throw in Mandy Moore as Aquagirl. It would be even more incredible to get Cameron to direct an actual film based on a second-fiddle comic hero. I don't really think this film could be done any other way.

I would love to see this made just because it would make Hollywood interesting. A television show satirizing the industry creates a fake movie, initiates buzz and popularity about the "project", and then leads to an actual feature-length film? It's art imitating life imitating art.

And that's just why the only Aquaman can be Vincent Chase, er, Adrian Grenier.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Hoff his fracking rocker

David Hasselhoff continues to astound me. For instance, how does he continue to keep making music? The whole "big in Europe" thing is largely a farce, as I have met several Germans who say a Hasselhoff concert is something you would only take a small child to.

His new song, Jump In My Car, is supposedly poised to break the Top 10 charts in Britain. People are talking about a Hoff resurgence. When was this man ever taken seriously? I've always equated him to being the second-coming of Michael Landon.

Out of a sick curiousity, I felt it necessary to seek out this song. Obviously, people like me are everywhere because it's become quite popular on Google Video and You Tube. I think it may be an ode to streetwalkers while simutaneously capitalizing on his Knight Rider and Baywatch glory.

Watch it. It does not disappoint. Your make choke on a tiny bit of your own vomit, but it is impossible for one to turn away.

It's not over. You can even watch the short documentary on the making of this video. The fact that the crew and female co-stars are allowing themselves to be filmed without a hint of shame or irony is almost compelling. These poor young wannabe actresses. This has to be a fate worse than falling into amateur adult videos.

Because it just demands to be posted one more time...

This is a copy of the "Meat Papers", which was written nearly a year ago. You can also find it at Where's Axl if you are so inclined.

This was initially exchanged on July 29, 2005.

I will begin with Katelyn's letter to ground beef. What follows was (my) ground beef's heartfelt response.

Dear Hamburger Meat,

I am sorry to have to do this, but I think we need some time apart. I know you've been there for me for so many years, but I really think it's time to move on. After seeing you last night in my toilet bowl, after a half an hour of nausea from your undercooked-ness and whatever parasites you may have been carrying, it occurred to me: we're moving in opposite directions. Last night, you were clearly moving up, while I wanted so badly for you to stay down. It finally took me popping a blood vessel in my eye from all the retching to realize that this is just not meant to be.

It's not you, it's me. We've had a lot of good times - you let me eat you in secret while maintaining a facade of vegetarianism so that I could keep my vegan friends happy. You were there on roadtrips, at concerts, at late night burger-fests. You even managed to stay in my life during that 2-day stint in Toronto with Jeff. We've been through everything together - patty melts, North End burgers, South End burgers, mushroom melts, and even steak tartar at that Ethiopian place (yes, you were hot naked). But let's not let the goud times we shared cloud the reality that is the essence of us: we're moving farther and farther apart.

Don't cry, Hamburger - I'll always have a special place in my heart for you. Every time my dad throws a veggie burger on the grill, I'll always wonder, "What could have been?" But for now, Darling, I need some time to regroup, some time to reintroduce myself to my old friends - Mushroom, Soy, and Tofu. I'll still see you in passing and have fond thoughts, but I think this time apart will do us good. Maybe there will be a chance for us, someday, but I don't want us to dwell on that. Find a nice girl - a Viking, perhaps, or a Southerner - someone who really appreciates you for who you are and doesn't want to change you. I wish I could say I'm the one for you, but I think it's obvious I'm not. We're too different: I like Radiohead and you like Kenny Chesney. I like Jon Stewart, you like John Wayne. I like ketchup, you love mustard. Let's let bygones be bygones. The world is our oyster, Hamburger; let's shuck the heck out of it.

With tenderness, Katelyn

Dear Katelyn,

I think I take offense to that. Kenny Chesney prefers fried chicken. John Wayne ate buffalo. A hamburger is more the tastes of your cute little indie rock boys that arent as pretentious as the vegan ones. The cute little ones you really desire, the ones who (like you) have a disdain for daddys money and long to subsist on the greasy goodness found on the grills of such dive establishments as Bukowskis and Charlies? Come on, you really think I dig listening to Moby and Coldplay? I wouldnt want those overexposed pipsqueaks to enjoy the succulent tastes that I have to offer.

What else was I going to do with my life besides offer the world a tasty snack in medium well form (mainly because anyone that doesnt eat their burgers medium well should have their heads examined. Cook me!). If I could find a cure for cancer, get Bush impeached, or prevent Britney Spears from having babies, of course I would. Unfortunately, for now I am but a mere cow and the only thing I look forward to is finding out how I am prepared in the after life. And what sort of friend were you? Ive provided sustenance for centuries and you know you enjoyed sinking your teeth into my carnivorous goodness.

Ah, but your pretentious veggie friends could never see. You couldnt pretend to do this radical bit if you enjoyed a bacon & swiss burger now, could you? Its a lot like when Ryan first arrived in Newport and Marissa wouldnt give up her relationship with Luke because he was a more dignified suitor. Of course, he had to slum it with her in the end when all of his friends dissed him because his father was gay. See? Vegans are much like those popular people in school that you just want to be like, but know youre not. Theyre also willing to diss you if something bad came out, because owning DVDs of The O.C. and the soundtrack to On the Line is pretty much the equivalent of having a gay parent in Newport. And if youre really as liberal as you claim you are, would you really want friends like that?

Oh, Katelyn. Perhaps they made me too rare last night. Or maybe you drank too much (its not as if you NEVER do that). Like everything in life, we cannot all be perfect. Getting cooked or marinated improperly is much like being a Scientologist. You cant tenderize meats with vitamins, can you? NO! I always laugh at how you flip back and forth about what is right and wrong (or cool and uncool) oh so easily. Because I know that you always come crawling back to me, however, enough is enough.

I dont want your friendship if its only on your terms. I hate the South and Ive never been to Norway and I find your liberal, open-minded viewpoint appaling. Why would I want you to enjoy my meaty goodness when you spend your time denying my existence in your life or speaking about how you shouldnt enjoy me. Its a lot like Whitney Houston telling Barbara Walters that crack is whack, isnt it? She wanted the viewers to think that she was over that part of her life, when she really was speaking of her addiction as something she loved more than putting corn rows in Bobbi Kristinas hair. Well this bag of ground beef wants to dance with someone that loves me. Someone like Benjamin McKenzie: that Texas-bred boy just loves piling me up with ketchup and onions and biting down. Something of which I can assure you, will never happen to the likes of your wannabe vegan butt. Jon Stewart adores me without cheese, but your brand of wannabe original politics aint kosher. And we all know Richard Chamberlain prefers the meat. You think Kevin Costner is going to serve you up some curried tofu if you snuck into his Montana ranch. I dont think so, sweetheart. I can understand if you had religious issues that barred you from enjoying my awesome angus-ness, but babe, youre Catholic and your parents wrapped you in proscuitto as a child. And that was no exotic doll they gave you to sleep with. That was 1.5 pounds of pure Italian Sausage with a curly blonde wig on top. So you may think youre being different. You may think youre being cool. I know youll want to meet up again in the near future, but Im not coming back. Getting stuck in your poser belly is the last thing this USDA prime cut wants to do.

Because youre technically still employed at Starbucks, capitalist America at its worst. Thats nice you offer the choice of free trade coffee now, but really too little and too late. Its a wonderful thing to see all of your people at work in the same conglomerate (oooops, I meant neighborhood coffee emporium), you know fighting the system and believing in PETA. Ha! I almost spit out my cud and grass smoothie thinking of you hawking mocha lattes and Norah Jones CDs. Yeah. And the other day I was in Jersey, sitting on the table in front of Bruce Springsteen and he wanted me to tell you that only meateaters (aka tramps like him) are born to run. So you can take your gardenburger and hang out with Lauren Bush. Im hanging with The Boss now.

Think of me the next time you complain how broke you are and then shop at Whole Foods. You know, in the frozen food aisle when you pick up some meatless sausage links. Because if being a carnivore was so nasty, vegans wouldnt be making things out of soy to simulate what I am naturally. Which makes dining on soy burgers a rather phony act. Its not like I would expect anyone who worked at Starbucks to be phony now, would I?

Good riddance, The Hamburgler

John Tesh: Ultimate Renaissance Man

I somehow stumbled upon this and initially believed it to be a joke.

Yes...THAT John Tesh. Although, I suppose I should give a man with such a diverse resume a bit of credit. How many other people have anchored an oft-watched celebrity "news" magazine (while sitting next to a woman who supposedly induced epileptic seizures in a viewer), commentated AND composed music for women's gymnastics (at a World and Olympic level), and creates music that "sounds like" Yanni and is "influenced" by Christ's love? Not many. And he's even married to
Connie Selleca, which probably guarantees him a meeting with top executives at the Lifetime network at any time and place he so desires.

He's sort of like Hasselhoff without the stench of booze. Or a multi-faceted Jack Wagner. I'm not really sure what to think of this John Tesh honkey.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Dark & Twisted Puppies

From E!Online...

The 30-year-old actor reportedly led Bradford straight to NBC's awaiting security guards, but not before, according to Access Hollywood, she left a copy of Colin Farrell: A Dark Twisted Puppy, a self-published book detailing her alleged encounters with the Irish actor, on Leno's desk.

(Check out this chick's MySpace page. It's seriously whacked. Seriously. She supposedly penned another tome devoted to her S&M adventures with Alec Baldwin.)

That is fabulous. I hope I can have someone else publish a book I write one day with "Dark Twisted Puppy" in the title.

She also offers a recipe for the "Colin Farrell is My Bitch" cocktail. It sounds potentially lethal.

1/2 oz Bacardi 151 rum
1/2 oz Goldschlager cinnamon schnapps
1/2 oz Jagermeister herbal liqueur
1/2 oz Patron,1,19556,00.html?fdnews

I Want SexyBack

I figured out that Justin Timberlake was actually sort of cool a few years ago. It began when I realized I really dug Rock Your Body. Then, a friend of mine was convinced he could get tickets to the VMAs for cheap at the last minute. Ha. We did, however, attend Justin Timberlake's post-VMA show at the Hammerstein Ballroom. The guy could actually play instruments. My view of the stage was obstructed by an overweight, teenaged goth girl.

This disturbed me not because she was obstructing my view and yelling obnoxiously, but because I found it so amusing someone dressed so "goth" was so into a Justin Timberlake performance. In my pubescent halcyon years, someone who was a goth was a goth. I decided that today's "goth-looking" kids are just that -- goth looking. Goth has been reduced to
Hot Topic in this day and age. It sort of made me sad. I wanted to go home and curl up on my bed in a deep melancholy while listening to The Cure.

The night also included my friend most likely being roofied at the previous bar, as she is a champion drinker and was unable to barely move from the circular booth surrounding the Hammerstein after consuming only 3 miniscule vodka beverages. While tending to her, I also encountered a pile of vomit on the floor. It was covered in sawdust, a la elementary school.

I digress. And I'm going to digress further. Justin Timberlake has a new song out called SexyBack. It's from his forthcoming FutureSex / LoveSounds album. The title of the album sort of annoys me because its reminiscent of that whole LoveAngelMusicBaby thing Gwen Stefani did (essentially to promote her clothing and handbag lines). I suppose JT's album, and
recent comments that he enjoys using drugs recreationally, is the final stage in breaking free from those boy band shackles. I think it is a more dignified and gradual release, much unlike his Mickey Mouse Club peers Britney and Christina.

And since I'm bringing up Britney, I have to admit something. Although celebrity love lives factor very little, if at all (except Ice-T & CoCo!) into my existence, I have a little fantasy. I don't think it's at all uncommon, and everytime I see a tabloid or see a photo of stringy-haired, barefoot & pregnant Britney wearing 2003's smocked terry cloth dress, I think about what might have been.

I just want Britney & Justin back together. Not because they were each other's first loves or because they were the bubble gum pop duo of yore. I have no problem with Brad Pitt running off with Angelina Joile, but Britney & Justin, they belong together.

Seriously. Look at what happened to her after they broke up. He was her rock. She was his Eliza Doolittle. If Justin stepped in, you think she would be pumping out potential short-bus children with a ne'er do well former back-up dancer who raps about Brazillian ass slang? Hell no. He would have gotten her a one-way ticket to Timbaland's studio and she would have a hit record. Would she be snapping gum at Matt Laurer or driving through the Sonic five times a week? Hell no. She would be sitting, perfectly coiffed, front row at the
Cavalli show.

They would be like Seal & Heidi Klum, the Southern Fried American Version. I picture it going down much like A Mighty Wind, except it's at the Grammys, and they're opening the show. Some acoustic duet talking about getting the lover you always wanted back and by your side, finishing with an embrace. It would be huge. A kiss with Britney and Justin? Bigger than Britney kissing Madonna.

Alas. A girl can dream. Here's the song, since it's not yet available on iTunes and I haven't found a pirated version that works. My friend says it reminds her of Slave 4 U, maybe a bit, but not really. If there is any similarities, well, that's just further proof that things would just be better if Britney & Justin were back together. Hell, I bet even Hezbollah may stop for a moment to ponder the power of love.

Here's the link. This song does really make me want to go a bumping and a grinding. This new JT album may just be the perfect companion to the
Gorillaz' Demon Days or Gnarls Barkley's St. Elsewhere.

(You can also listen to the song on the official JT site)

Scenes from the UPS Customer Service Center

One of the biggest pains in the asses has to be retrieving one's package from the UPS office. Whenever I miss the three attempted deliveries (Hello? People work. So don't deliver between 2 and 5.), I'm forced to go out to some side street in Watertown.

It's not busy, but of course it will be a excrutiatingly slow process. I expect this. What I do not expect is animal noises. Yes. That's correct. When the man went to retrieve my package, he began to meow (sort of a meow-grunt type sound, not sure what it was meant to be).

Don't really understand why this happened. All this for a damned bikini bottom that was on back order from J. Crew.

Monday, July 17, 2006

Craigslist Follies: Vol. 1

I've been talking about doing this (er, blogging about) for sometime, although the idea is neither new nor earth shattering.

I rarely scan through the "Casual Encounters" section of Craigslist, but when I do, I am always amused.

Here are several that made me giggle (and I'll keep it quasi-clean):

Reply to:
Date: 2006-07-17, 5:01PM EDT
does not like to go down, give head, suck cock, and she doesn't like it when someone goes down on her...she won't talk about it...just won't do it.... i'm so in need of going down, i crave the taste of a woman, it's been over a year....i want it so bad, is there anyone out there who would like a guy just to go down on them, nothing else other than u being pleased orally.....please let me go down on u, and taste u....

Um...okay. So why are you still with this woman? You don't sound very happy in the relationship.

Reply to:
Date: 2006-07-17, 4:59PM EDT

Okay. I understand that maybe the whole spark has been extinguished from your married sex life. Fairly common, right? In any case, when requesting these sorts of acts from anonymous strangers, I feel it is necessary you check your grammar. You don't need an AP Stylebook to know that "bye" is the incorrect form of "by". In the context you are using, "come" is erroneous, too. But most importantly, if you really are 6'11", you shouldn't follow that fact by stating you suffer from the Irish Curse.

Reply to:
Date: 2006-07-17, 4:54PM EDT
i want my fantasy to be reality — m4ww — 26
im looking to have a threesome with a couple of girls never had one always wanted to

That's nice, sweetheart. So you watched Entourage last night and were reminded that you've never had your very own threesome. I can handle your lack of proper capitalization and punctuation in casual online communication, but you really should be letting any of your potential reality-makers know what is in it for them. What can you offer them? Oh. And what do you look like? You really need to work on the specifics if you want to make your dream come true.

Reply to:
Date: 2006-07-17, 4:14PM EDT
Daytime pussy licking delight!! — m4w
I come you your door with a clipboard pretending to canvas for the Sierra Club. You are wearing a revealing top and short skirt and invite me in. We go to the living room and you sit on the couch, cross your legs, and I sit opposite in a chair. I start to give my pitch and, as I am doing so, you uncross your legs and slowly spread them and I get flustered as I see that you are not wearing any panties. I stare at your beautiful pussy winking at me as you lean back. I look into your eyes and you smile and beckon me with your finger. You tell me to eat you and I lick your sweet pussy through as many orgasms as you want. Nothing else expected. Make you hot to think of a safe, fun, sane stranger licking your pussy until you scream? Just as hot as it makes me to think about it. It could come true, during the day when I am free.

Does it have to be the Sierra Club? For instance, what if I wanted you to pretend you were a Lyndon LaRouche follower? Or how about a Jehovah's Witness?

But I will give you props on creativity.

Choose my exotic dancer name

No. I am NOT jumping on the pole dancing bandwagon. This is something I've wanted to do for while, but now I have a some free time.

I start on Wednesday. Any suggestions as to what my "stage name" should be would be truly appreciated. Something sexy, something ironic...Any ideas?

Friday, July 14, 2006

Chillin with Il

There are so many things I adore about this inspirational painting taken from a Korean children's book. Particularly the ethereal halo casting its soft glow above Kimmy Il's head.

(I just thought it would be sort of fun to call him Kimmy Il. Not really sure why.)

And I think Sammy Davis Jr. is standing behind the man shaking Kimmy Il's hand.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

I probably think this song is about me...

I received this link from a friend yesterday and 2 hours of uploading personal photos / insanity quickly ensued.

Perhaps I’m one of the last people to find this site, but it’s some of the most web-based fun I’ve had in quite some time. Upload a photo. Make sure all the faces are looking straight at the camera (otherwise, it just won’t work). Then click to compare your facial structure with 3200 celebrities / notable figures in their database.

The site utilizes facial recognition software that’s been used by law enforcement agencies. They will be using this software to help people find relatives and ancestry information (if you have an 80% or above similarity, there is a chance you may be related).

A few years ago, some scientists discovered that human beauty is formulaic. Examining photos of the “beautiful people”, it was determined that these individuals have similar facial proportions and measurements.

Using that information, and judging from the results obtained after uploading around 10-15 photos (It’s best to upload several photos to see how frequently you’re matched to people), this website solidifies the fact that I am completely hot.

The first picture I uploaded put me at a 75% match to Aishwarya Rai. Rai, Bollywood’s biggest actress, makes every Most Beautiful Woman / Person in the World list. This picture also matched with Grace Kelly, Cindy Crawford, Ashley Olsen, Queen Raina…and Eddie Murphy (among others).

After uploading several pictures, I began seeing a definite. Rai, Ashley Olsen (Obviously, some Mary Kate popped up, too. Am I a lost sister or something?), Angelina Joile, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Gwen Stefani popped up most frequently. Of course, I also yielded comparisons to Jason Biggs on several occasions.

I now worry I am going to upload photos on a regular basis to satisfy this (relatively) newfound vanity I discovered lurked deep inside.

See for yourself and be vain like me! Or at least curious…maybe it’s more curiosity than vanity?

(And let me know your results)